


Buttercup Coins

by AceSailorKoshkaRayn



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Consistency is for Other People, Explicit Sex, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, God!Jaskier, Jaskier gets stabbed is what I'm saying, Jaskier is the patron god of entertainers, M/M, Moderate depictions of blood and gore, SO MUCH FLUFF, So is Cannon, actually no i definitely did, and i am neither shamed nor sorry, and you can fight me on that, bc I'm a meanie and i love hurting my favorites, he is soft n squishy n I love him, is that a spoiler?? probably, possibly I had more background than actual plot going into this, set in some nebulous timeline before the djinn, the working title of this was 'Jaskier likes to fuck', this is straight up unrepentant fluff, yes THOSE kinds of entertainers as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23714626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceSailorKoshkaRayn/pseuds/AceSailorKoshkaRayn
Summary: The man is more like a boy, wide-eyed with wonder, smelling of awe and wonder and warm sunshine on grass. Geralt is inordinately fond of this strange creature, the stories he tells, the way he makes Geralt seem so much better than he thinks he is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 680





	Buttercup Coins

**Author's Note:**

> omg more than one story in a fandom, it must be a miracle.  
> I wrote most of this over the course of two days, put it down for a week, added all the sexy bits, and then edited it. Kind of. I really didn't edit it all that much, tbh.  
> I have more background at the end! World-Building is my Passion, can you tell?

"Do you have a name, then?" Geralt grunted, scowling at the young man across the fire. Hell, he couldn't have been much older than his mid-twenties; practically an infant compared to Geralt's own long years.

"Ah," the young man blinked, taken aback. "Have I not already introduced myself?" He planted a palm against his chest, hanging his head dramatically.

Geralt already regretted asking.

"Oh, my poor mother must be rolling in her grave at my lack of manners!" the young man exclaimed, gently set the lute aside, and gave an extravagant seated bow. "Dandelion, traveling bard, at your service, good sir!"

Geralt grunted, and hefted another stick onto the fire. That was a fake name if he ever heard one, but whatever, not his business.

Dandelion put the lute back into his lap, fingering out an old folk song in the absent-minded way that spoke of long practice. "That was quite a wonderful thing you did, there," he mused, cocking his head to the side to regard the Witcher across the fire. "Protecting those lovely people."

Geralt arched an eyebrow and sat back on his palms. "You're not a common man, to think that. Most men would rather me cut their heads off."

Scoffing, Dandelion shook his whole self in denial, his hands not wavering in the slightest. "I am a lover of  _ all _ people, of all shapes and sizes they may come in -elf, dwarf, man...Witcher," he gave a dramatic wink, and Geralt rolled his eyes. Dandelion giggled impishly, and shrugged. "Regardless, it was a kind thing you did, even if you say that you are not kind."

Sighing, Geralt turned and flopped towards his bedroll, not wanting to spare another thought towards the strange bard until at least the morning. He shuffled around until he was comfortable-ish, and shifted his head to regard the bard, who had gone silent. "Did you really travel all this way without so much as a blanket?" he asked incredulously, watching the man hunker down in the roots of a massive tree.

"Ah...no?" Dandelion pursed his lips. "It's still warm out; I won't need one for several months yet."

"...What the fuck, bard," Geralt huffed, scowling. "All that fuss about your finery and you're perfectly content to get it covered in mud?"

"It'll wash out!" Dandelion protested, picking at the knee of his trousers. "I can do it in the, uh, morning. I think I heard a stream somewhere nearby…?"

Scrubbing one hand against his face, Geralt sat up. He fished the top blanket out from underneath him, balled it up, and chucked it across the fire.

Dandelion squawked, ducking and catching in the same breath.

"I don't want to hear you complaining about stains," Geralt scowled, resolutely turning his back.

"Aw, you're an absolute sweetheart," Dandelion purred, and Geralt growled under his breath.

Geralt could hear him shuffling around, then sighing, and then, at last,  _ blessed _ silence.

Dandelion stuck to Geralt like a thrice-damned burr, perpetually singing and performing and sometimes even dancing, even when the only audience was the annoyed Witcher and the very unimpressed Roach.

Unfortunately, he  _ was _ getting paid better now, thanks to that obnoxious song that had caught on like a wildfire.

The more Geralt heard it, the more Geralt wanted to bash his head against a wall.

And he was hearing it  _ everywhere _ .

Barkeepers whistled it as they passed over his ale, drunkards roared the chorus as they stumbled home after the end of a long night, whores hummed it as they propositioned Dandelion.

"I hate you," Geralt scowled as Dandelion flopped bonelessly onto the bench across the table from him, still ruddy-cheeked and breathless from performing.

"No you don't," Dandelion laughed, grabbing Geralt's ale and tossing back a swig. "I'm your favourite, and your very best friend in the whole wide world."

"No, you're not," Geralt ground out between his teeth, clenching his hands into tight fists.

The tavern-goers behind them were stumbling through another chorus of some bawdy dreck that seemed to be a local favourite, that Dandelion had quickly picked up on and had somehow made even  _ more _ crass.

Dandelion arched an unimpressed eyebrow, resting his elbows on the table and crossing his hands underneath his chin. "Right, I forget - _ Roach _ is your best friend. Faithful, unflappable Roach. I mean," he tipped his head to the side and waved a hand, "perhaps my horse would also be my best friend if I liked to pretend that I hated humans."

"I don't- I'm not  _ pretending _ anything!" Geralt stuttered, then scowled. "And I don't  _ hate _ humans; don't put words in my mouth."

Dandelion rolled his eyes. "I know you don't hate humans, my darling dramatic. You just like to pretend you don't like them. That way, when they don't like you, you can pretend it doesn't break your heart."

"...I think you've had a little too much to drink," Geralt said after a moment, flatter than a sea before a storm.

"Ah-?" Dandelion blinked at him, then down to where Geralt's fingers were clenched into white-knuckled fists. "Ah, perhaps you are right!" He laughed, and sat back. "I'm in the mood for some pretty company tonight, dearest Witcher!" He said, half-rising. "I'll be back before morning!"

"Don't stick your dick where it doesn't belong," Geralt told him dryly, relaxing inch by inch.

Dandelion sputtered, making offended sounds. "Me-? Why, Geralt! I would never!"

Geralt rolled his eyes, tossed back the rest of his ale, and stood as well. "I leave at dawn," he said.

"Aye aye!" Dandelion chirped merrily, tossing him a foppish salute, and skipped off, humming under his breath.

"Do you even know how to use one of those?" Geralt arched a curious eyebrow, watching Dandelion carefully inspect the most delicate-looking little knife the merchant had amongst all his wares.

"I- well, of course!" Dandelion gasped, offended. "I may not be as handy with a massive thing like that you carry, but I know my way around a pricker or two."

The merchant swiftly stifled a snort, her eyes dancing with laughter.

Geralt went dead-eyed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Must everything become a euphemism with you."

"Nature of the game, darling," Dandelion winked at him, tossing the knife in his palm idly to test the balance. “I like this one quite a bit,” he said, leaning forward over the counter the merchant had set out. His necklace fell out of the opened collar of his doublet -some bronze coin thing that Geralt had never really seen clearly.

She arched an eyebrow, putting one hand on her waist and jutting her hip out. “I’m glad of that,” she replied, and Geralt rolled his eyes, because he already knew where this was going. The familiar smell of lust was rising in the air, from both Dandelion and the merchant.

“Are you useful with that little prick of yours?” she asked, looking him up and down.

“I am useful in all styles of pricks,” Dandelion smirked, and Geralt wondered absently if it would be even worthwhile to drag the idiot bard away.

Probably not, he mused, watching the man pass over a handful of coins for the dagger and matching sheath. “Find me when you’re done,” he said, clapping Dandelion on the back hard enough to make him stagger.

“Will do!” Dandelion chirped, tossing him a wave over his shoulder without looking away from the merchant.

Dandelion staggered back into their inn room, red lipstick marks on his neck and an extremely pleased look on his face.

Geralt arched a curious eyebrow, taking a sip of his ale. He was...fairly certain that the merchant hadn’t been wearing any makeup at all. “I take it you had a fun time.”

Humming, Dandelion flopped into the spare chair across the small table across from Geralt. “Miss Annika had a lovely,  _ lovely _ wife,” he said adoringly, tracing his fingertips lightly across his neck. “And you know I don’t kiss and tell, but  _ oh _ her lovely wife knows how to use her cock well.”

Geralt’s eye caught on the medallion hanging from Dandelion’s open shirt. “Ah, a follower of Jaskier.”

“...Yes?” Dandelion cocked his head to the side, hand dropping to press a finger against the coin. “I thought you would have figured this out by now, to be honest.”

“Frankly, I just thought you were something of a slut,” Geralt said with a shrug, making Dandelion snort and flap his hand.

“Well, I enjoy pleasure just as much as the next,” he said, rolling his head back and forth and making his neck crack. He reached for Geralt’s ale, easily evading the absent slap of a broad hand. “Perhaps more so,” Dandelion laughed slightly. “Slut is certainly not the worst thing that I’ve been called, nor is it entirely inaccurate.”

Geralt huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Fool,” he said, almost fond.

“Perhaps,” Dandelion winked, and giggled.

“Stay here,” Geralt growled, pressing a hand flat to Dandelion’s shoulder and pushing him back towards Roach. “Stay quiet, and don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m not delicate-!” Dandelion protested, widening his eyes and pursing his lips in a pout.

“You’re human,” Geralt retorted, rifling through his saddlebags and pulling out a potion that glowed a faint, toxic green. “This is a pack of ghouls -to them, you’re nothing but a tasty snack.”

Dandelion blinked at him, eyebrows slowly creeping upwards. “Ah,” he said flatly, and obediently hooked his fingers on Roach’s reins. “Right. I’ll, uh, wait here, I guess.”

Geralt humphed, tossing back the potion and grimacing at the earthy, slightly swamp-water-esque taste. “You had better,” he said flatly. “You come any closer and I’ll bite you myself.” He flashed his sharp teeth in a parody of a grin.

Snickering, Dandelion tossed his head. “Darling, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Groaning faintly, Geralt shoved at the back of Dandelion’s head and stomped off, silver sword already drawn.

“...What are you doing,” Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh! Geralt!” Dandelion quickly dropped the man he had pinned by his collar, easily sliding his knife back into its sheath at the small of his back. “Hello, darling, how are you!”

The man gave Dandelion a wary look, quickly scrambling to his feet and then away, nearly tripping over the uneven alley dirt in his haste.

“Why are you threatening the villager,” Geralt intoned flatly, one eyebrow raised.

“He was being rude to the lovely working ladies of the local establishment,” Dandelion sniffed, crossing his arms and turning his nose up. “I will not be shamed for that.”

Sighing, Geralt dragged the man into his side with an arm wrapped firmly around his neck. “Please refrain from threatening death to the local fools,” he said, dragging Dandelion back into the tavern.

“I wasn’t threatening  _ death _ ,” Dandelion scoffed, waving one hand wildly. The other tucked itself into the waistband of Geralt’s trousers, and Geralt tried to ignore the way it made his heart jump. “Just- removal of certain stubby body parts that he was  _ obviously _ in no way deserving of, with the way he flaunted them about. Really, I would have been doing everyone a favor.”

Geralt paused at the tavern door, blinking for a moment. “You-” he stifled a snort, shaking his head. He jostled Dandelion against his side, making the man yelp and stumble.

“Geralt!” Dandelion clutched at him, eyes wide as he nearly fell. “You absolute  _ bastard _ of a man! How rude!”

Geralt eventually got used to how Dandelion almost always smelled like the addition of someone else. His natural scent was...strange, if he were honest, buried under his perfumes and other that of other bodies. It really only was apparent when they had been travelling for a while, after a day or two in the woods or along the road. He smelled like sunshine on crushed grass, fresh mint, sun-sweaty human, and, underneath it all, something almost electric, like the air before a lightning storm.

“Can I help you?” Dandelion asked innocently, eyebrows raised as he watched Geralt watch him over the light of their campfire.

“...You smell nice,” Geralt said slowly, licking his lower lip thoughtfully. “Even if you always smell like lust.”

Both of Dandelion’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “You can smell that?” he asked incredulously. “My word, how good is your sense of smell, anyway?”

“Very,” Geralt arched an eyebrow, and leaned back on his palms.

“...Oh?” Dandelion set his lute carefully to the side, rising slowly to his feet. “So you know every time I’m aroused, then.”

“That’s most of the time, if we’re being honest,” Geralt said, watching the bard slink closer on silent feet.

Dandelion rolled his eyes, settling carefully down in Geralt’s lap. He draped his arms over Geralt’s shoulders, fingers toying idly with his long white hair. “Perhaps that’s only when I’m around you,” he said, tugging slightly.

Geralt growled low in the back of his throat, hands moving to Dandelion’s narrow hips. “Tease,” he said, when Dandelion squirmed to make himself more comfortable.

“Oh, always, darling,” Dandelion purred, eyes going half-lidded. He dragged his nails lightly against Geralt’s neck, making the Witcher shiver. “You know me, I live to torment you. Am I doing well?”

Geralt scoffed, laying down on the bedroll behind him and dragging Dandelion down with him.

Dandelion ground against him, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

Geralt wanted to bite it. He hooked his arm around the man’s neck, dragging him down. “You’re playing a dangerous game, bard,” he said roughly, his other hand gripping his hip tight enough to leave bruises.

“It’s my favorite one, though,” Dandelion purred, fingers tight in Geralt’s loose hair. “Now kiss me like you mean it, Witcher, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Immediately, Geralt bit at Dandelion’s mouth, pulling him into a devouring kiss. Dandelion moaned, rolling his hips. The scent of arousal rose strong in the air, making Geralt’s mouth water. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled, fisting his hand in Dandelion’s hair and pulling him back.

Dandelion whined, mouth red and kiss-bitten. “Something good, I hope,” he gasped, gripping Geralt’s shirtfront tight. “Fuck, I need you to  _ fuck me, Geralt _ .”

Snarling, Geralt flipped them and Dandelion laughed, utterly delighted. “I’m going to eat you whole,” he growled, dropping his head to bite at Dandelion’s throat.

Dandelion’s laugh trailed off into a moan, fingers scrabbling to the laces of Geralt’s trousers. “Darling, darling  _ please _ -!” he gasped, back arching.

Nipping his way down Dandelion’s front, Geralt nimbly unlaced the bard’s trousers and shucked them off to toss at the foot of the bedroll. He leaned back, smirking down at Dandelion’s form.

Dandelion pouted, hands dropping from Geralt’s hair. He trailed his fingers through his own thick chest hair, peeking out from between the laces of his chemise. “I hope you have oil,” he hummed, picking at the laces and slowly undoing them. His bronze medallion rested in the hollow of his throat, gleaming in the firelight. “Not that I don’t, but your bags are considerably closer.”

Huffing softly, Geralt pinched at his thigh, making Dandelion yelp and kick at him.

“Rude,” Dandelion sniffed, turning his nose up.

Rolling his eyes, Geralt leaned over him to the head of the bedroll, digging through his saddlebags until he came up with a half-full bottle of the base oil for his tinctures. Smelled fine, not toxic for humans, should be good.

When he turned back to Dandelion, he almost choked.

The bard had completely unlaced his blouse, nimble fingers pinching at his nipples. One hand had crept between his thighs, petting idly over his cock.

Geralt rumbled deep in his chest, dropping the oil and slapping Dandelion’s hands away. He replaced it with his mouth, biting viciously at his chest enough to make the man keen.

Dandelion’s hands flew to his head, fisting tightly in his hair to hold him there. He swore tremulously, hips shifting restlessly.

Feeling unseeingly for the vial of oil, Geralt popped the cork and promptly lost it in the dark. He upended it over his fingers one-handed, smoothing it over his calloused digits. He traced his thumb over the stiff line of Dandelion’s cock, making the man squirm. Dipping his digits down, rubbing his fingertip against his furled entrance, he drank in the desperate sounds pouring from his mouth. He mouthed sharp fangs against the nipple between his teeth. “When we do this again,” he panted, dragging his head back and pushing his first finger in, “I’m going to eat you out until you  _ cry _ .”

Dandelion whimpered, spine bowing. “D-  _ oh _ darling-” he cried out when Geralt pressed ruthlessly against that beautiful little spot inside him, thighs quivering around his ears. “ _ Fuck _ , please, please-”

“Patience, little lark,” Geralt murmured dangerously, nipping his way down the bard’s taut body. He pressed firmly, sliding back just enough to add a second finger.

Breath hitching, Dandelion allowed his thighs to go lax, parting even further around Geralt’s broad shoulders. “Shit, c’mon, please, please,” his voice cracked, howling when Geralt rubbed firmly against his prostate.

Geralt groped for the laces of his trousers, snapping the string in his haste. He swore quietly under his breath, dropping the fragment before pulling out his cock. He upended the rest of the small vial of oil over his palm, giving himself a perfunctory stroke to slick himself. Groaning softly, he planted one palm on the bedroll and stared down at Dandelion.

Dandelion made grabby hands, and Geralt rolled his eyes and leaned down obediently.

“Needy,” Geralt hummed, nosing at the bard’s cheek. The man smelled strongly of arousal, and that electric smell had heightened.

“For you, darling?” Dandelion laughed, and smacked a fond kiss to Geralt’s mouth. “Always. Now get  _ in me _ .”

Snarling, bit at Dandelion’s neck, hard enough to bruise but not bleed. He took his cock in hand, pressing forward slowly.

The squirming bard stilled at the first touch to his entrance, eyelashes fluttering. He moaned deep in his throat, through his teeth. “Fuck, you’re so good to me, darling,” he hissed, fingers digging into Geralt’s shoulders.

The Witcher sucked marks into his neck, worrying at his pulse with his sharp teeth. He thrust forward and Dandelion’s head snapped back as he keened. Geralt worked a hand between their bodies, pushing Dandelion’s cock flat against his taut stomach. “Think you can come just from this?” he purred against his throat. “Just from me fucking you?”

“I-” Dandelion’s chest heaved, tossing his head back and forth. “Fuck, please, please pleaseplease _ please _ -!”

“Dandelion,” Geralt hummed, eyes closed to better bask in the scent of the man. “Come for me, Dandelion, can you do that?”

With a choked-off yelp, Dandelion came, nails digging harshly into Geralt’s skin.

Geralt made to pull out, but Dandelion only clutched him closer.

“St-stay,” Dandelion panted, locking eyes with him.

“You’ll be oversensitive,” Geralt warned, cocking his head to the side.

“I want it,” Dandelion told him fiercely, grip firm. “I want you to come in me.”

Geralt groaned, hanging his head. He thrust forward, rhythm broken. “You are dangerous for my health,” he grit out between clenched teeth.

Dandelion fisted his fingers tightly in Geralt’s hair, pulling it hard enough to make him snarl. He swore vehemently, back arching.

Geralt clamped his teeth hard enough to bruise on Dandelion’s shoulder, making the man shout, as he came, hips thrusting shallowly. He came down slowly, breathing in hot gusts.

Dandelion moaned as he slipped out, fingers flexing. “Shit, darling, you’re an absolute wonder.”

Grunting, Geralt shuffled up to fish through his saddlebags for a clean-ish scrap of cloth. He dampened it with a splash from a waterskin, passing the rag to Dandelion so he could wipe himself down. After taking a swig from the skin, he passed that over as well.

Dandelion hummed, pleased. “Most people can’t keep up with me,” he said absently, wiping the back of his wrist over his mouth.

“...Huh,” Geralt arched an eyebrow, looking over Dandelion’s form. “Is that why you fuck so much?”

Dandelion snorted, swatting at his shoulder. “Don’t shame me for my pleasure, Geralt.”

“ _ Geralt-! _ ”

The Witcher spun, taking in the sight of the bard - _ his _ bard- crumpling to the ground, clutching weakly at the sword in his gut.

Geralt’s vision went grey, a loud ringing sounding in his ears. He was  _ gone _ .

When he came back to himself, the mercenary band was nothing but ribbons of flesh scattering the side of the road. He could taste blood in his mouth, and the air was filled with the stench of terror.

A low groan met his ears, and he turned, slowly.

Dandelion.

He dropped his sword, uncaring, and scrambled over, dropping to his knees. “Dandelion-” he choked out, pressing a hand above the sword.

“Hello darling,” Dandelion said, smiling wryly. A small line of blood trailed out of the corner of his mouth, and he lifted a hand to press against Geralt’s cheek. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Geralt hissed, turning his head to whistle for Roach. “I need to get you to a healer-”

“No no, it’s fine,” Dandelion hummed, flexing his fingers around the sword. “I’m sorry, my lovely Witcher.”

“What-” Geralt stared at him, desperately confused. “Don’t- you’re not going to die, Dandelion, I won’t allow it!”

“I won’t,” Dandelion grunted, and heaved the sword out of himself. He coughed, blood bubbling up between his lips.

“What the  _ fuck- _ ” Geralt snapped, immediately pressing a hand to the wound. “You idiot!”

“Don’t be angry,” Dandelion said, and reached up to snap the chain of his necklace.

Geralt threw up a hand as the bard was coated in a blinding white light, jerking back. A low hum filled his ears, drowning out all other noise.

When it faded, he wondered for a moment if he had gone completely deaf. Geralt blinked the stars out of his eyes, then stared down at the man.

Dandelion sat up, slowly, scrubbing one hand across his mouth. His skin was glistening like moonlight, even in the warm noon sun. His ears were slightly pointier than they used to be, and it looked like faint tattoos were crawling up his skin. “Don’t be angry,” he said softly, not looking at Geralt.

“...What are you?” Geralt breathed, staring at him incredulously. “Look at me, Dandelion.” His voice brooked no argument.

Dandelion slowly turned his head, the slow stench of fear rising in the air. His eyes were a brilliant, solid,  _ glowing _ blue, with no pupil or sclera. Light brown tattoos were tracing up his throat, like an elegant necklace. A singular buttercup rested at the hollow of his throat, directly between his collarbones. “I am Jaskier.”

“...Patron god of entertainers,” Geralt sat back, forearms resting on his knees. “And whores.” He scrubbed a hand across his mouth, wondering how the fuck he had managed to miss something  _ this _ big.

“World’s oldest profession,” Dandelion - _ Jaskier _ \- said, a wry curl to his mouth. It was a discussion they’d had many times before.

“Why...why not tell me before now?” Geralt stood, shaking his head and pacing back and forth. “I- you’re a  _ god _ , do I even mean anything to you? Were you just planning on leading me on until you got  _ bored _ ?”

“I wasn’t…” Dandelion licked his lips, gaze dropping. “I wasn’t sure how you would react. I am...I do like you, Geralt. I wasn’t leading you on. I can love just as well as anyone else!”

Geralt froze, staring at Jaskier with wide eyes. “I-  _ love _ …?”

Swallowing thickly, Jaskier stood as well. “Yes. I do love you, Geralt. Surely you’ve realized that by now. And I can feel the way you feel about me- I have that much ability, at least.”

“I...didn’t think…” Geralt looked away, shoulders hunching. “Witchers aren’t supposed to feel,” he said thickly, hands clenching and releasing at his sides. “I didn’t...want to frighten you away. With how I feel.”

“...Oh, my darling Witcher,” Jaskier said softly, stepping forward on light feet to gently tip Geralt’s chin up. “If I were frightened of you, you would have known long ago.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Geralt’s cheek, and squeaked when he was crushed to his chest in a bruisingly tight hug.

Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s neck, snuffling for his scent under all the blood. Fundamentally unchanged, still warm and comforting and  _ good _ . “Dand- Jaskier…”

Laughing faintly, Jaskier stroked his fingers sweetly back and forth across the back of Geralt’s neck. “Oh, my lovely, darling love,” he said, resting his cheek on Geralt’s shoulder, disregarding the blood-sticky armor. “I am here. I’m sorry for frightening you so. Will you let me make it up to you?”

“Just- just let me hold you, for a while,” Geralt murmured, voice low. “Let me clean you, see for myself that your wounds are healed. I thought- I thought I had forgotten my own fear, but seeing you… I would rather die than see you gone from me.”

Humming, Jaskier nodded. He took a deep breath, lightly nudging him, and Geralt stepped back, concerned. His pale flesh started to twinkle slightly, and Geralt’s eyes went wide.

“No, it’s- it’s fine,” Geralt said quickly, gripping Jaskier’s hands to cut him off. “This is your- this is your most natural form, yes? I’d…” he suddenly blushed, and hells, he wasn’t even aware he could blush anymore. “I’d like to get familiar with this skin as well.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows lifted. “You  _ are _ a darling, aren’t you!” he said, delighted. “As you wish, my love. Sweep me off my feet.”

Grinning, Geralt did as he was bid, scooping Jaskier into his arms and making the god yelp. He held him like a princess, or a bride on her wedding night, and Jaskier laughed.

“I didn’t quite mean it  _ literally _ ,” Jaskier said fondly, twining a strand of Geralt’s hair around his fingers. The other gripped firmly at the collar of the Witcher’s armor, thumb only a hair’s breadth from his throat.

Geralt hummed, marching quickly off the path towards the stream that the little road meandered beside.

Roach followed sedately along.

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier's customary 'worship' emblem is a buttercup made of bronze -coin, pin, with stem or no. Good, reputable whorehouses that treat their workers well have it engraved somewhere prominent. If Jaskier comes across one that has it and is bad, he will majorly fuck up the Sir or Madam of the house until they change, because that's disrespecting his name. If he finds a whorehouse that doesn't have his emblem, he will kind of like inspect it, and make it better by force if he has to. Very protective of whores and prostitutes.  
> Musicians will wear the emblem on themselves or carved on their instruments, usually subtly, unless they are also a whore. Wearing the emblem openly usually denotes being a prostitute.  
> Dandelion's personal emblem is the focus point of his glamours.


End file.
